Chapter 12: A Teacher’s Oath

18.

“Agent Shimo, you’re angry out of embarrassment!”

I sat across from my mom, unable to help laughing again at her blushing face.

Seeing she was about to scold me, I quickly straightened my expression.

“Mom, opening a school isn’t a small thing. What are you really planning?”

My mom reached over and took the double hairpin from my hair.

“Jenny, do you know how much food this hairpin could buy?”

“A hundred and fifty pounds of rice. Even more if it’s cornmeal.”

I pressed my lips together, saying nothing.

“When I first came here, I was actually very happy.”

“I’d never lived so well before—eating rice and bread every meal, wearing such soft clothes. Everything taken care of.”

“You could say I was seduced by these sugar-coated bullets.”

My mom took a sip of coffee, her gaze distant.

The mug was chipped, but she held it like it was fine china. “Before I got married, I went with my mom to see my cedar chest and the land that came with it.”

“You know, your grandpa was just a county clerk, but the shops and fields he gave me still brought in several hundred dollars a year.”

“I looked at those thin, dark, shriveled faces of the tenant farmers.”

“It was like seeing my former parents.”

“I realized I was still a farmer’s child. I once swore under the flag to dedicate my life to my beliefs. How could I now trample these people, living off their work for pleasure?”

I understood then: those who have seen the light can never pretend to be blind in the darkness.

Her words felt like a challenge, an invitation, and a warning all at once.